


hypotheticals

by zigsexual (anythingbutloud)



Series: hypotheticals [1]
Category: The Royal Romance (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2019-11-06 21:37:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17947562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anythingbutloud/pseuds/zigsexual
Summary: riley wants to jump maxwell in his own bed and then... sort of does.





	hypotheticals

Riley grips the sides of the marble bathroom sink, the cold seeping through her fingers as she stares down her own face in the mirror. No amount of deep breaths in the guest suite had dulled the cacophony of the party beneath her, and she’s not about to splash water on her makeup. Not at _this_ party.

 _Her_ party.

(Well, the Beaumont party, technically, but at this point she’s basically a part of the house now and the whole freaking country knows her as part of the house now and so, by proxy, it’s also her party. Which she currently isn’t attending, due to the clusterfuck her life has become.)

It hadn’t been all that bad when it was just her and Maxwell setting up, waiting for everyone to arrive, making jokes about Bertrand behind his back and eating the cream puffs straight out of the catering trays. She can sit and talk with Maxwell for hours—that’s not the problem; the problem is the people she’s _supposed_ to be talking to instead.

She sighs, smoothing down the frizzy bits of her hair (in vain), shooting one last wavering glance at her godforsaken blue dress—and, _honestly_ , if they could afford the sheer amount of ice sculptures she’s seen today, Bertrand could have at least sprung for a new dress.

She hasn’t even been downstairs a minute when she hears him call her name, eyes alight and arm slung around her shoulder before she can even answer back. “Riley!”

Maxwell hasn’t been this excited since the day she said she would come to Cordonia. She manages a weak smile as he turns to face her. “Hey.”

“Where’ve you been? It hasn’t been any fun without you.”

“Um, upstairs,” she tilts her head back toward the staircase. “Freshening up.”

He pulls his arm back and hands her a glass of champagne from a nearby tray. She takes it gratefully, downing the drink before she loses her courage. He looks at her empty glass, then back to her face. She tries to smile again, but judging from the way he looks pointedly at her afterwards, it doesn’t go over well.

“Do you… want another one?” He says slowly, “Or there’s like, the chocolate fountain—which I still can’t believe Bertrand said yes to—but chocolate’s supposed to be a mood booster.”

Riley lets out a frustrated sigh.

“…y’know, because you need your mood boosted?” Maxwell says.

“Only if you go with me,” Riley says, “Because honestly, you’re about the only person I want to see right now. It’s been quite the week.”

Before she can really elaborate, she spots a familiar Prince out of the corner of her eye. And god damn it, where he goes, there must be…

There it is. An even more familiar denim shirt.

“Oh fuck, it’s Drake,” Riley says, at the exact same time Maxwell exclaims, “Hey, it’s Liam!”

They both turn to look at each other. Maxwell raises his eyebrows.

“Look,” Riley says, lowering her voice, “Um, I need to talk to you about some stuff, okay? But you can’t let Drake talk to me, and I can’t see Liam right now, I just can’t—“

Maxwell looks like he’s about to say something in response, but then his expression is gone as swiftly as it’s come, and he announces loudly, “OH HEY DRAKE AND LIAM. FANCY SEEING YOU HERE AT THIS PARTY THAT’S FOR LIAM.”

Riley turns around and there they are, the two men she least wants to see right now, one a shining beacon of her insecurities and the other a dark cloud over her future. Liam looks positively glowing, probably because of their conversation the night prior in which she was fairly certain he had _proposed to her_ which was fucking great considering the other late night confession of the friend he would probably want as their best man.

“It’s good to see you, Lady Riley,” he says, bowing a little. Drake doesn’t say anything. Riley wants to die.

She grabs Maxwell’s arm pleadingly, struggling for words. “Um, it’s so good to see you too! Welcome to the party! Can’t wait for the coronation and… like, there’s gonna be a Queen, so…”

“Have you tried the chocolate fountain?” Maxwell interrupts, pointing with his free arm. “Riley and I were just talking about how we’d like to, but the line is just ridiculous and hey, you know what I bet a _Prince_ could cut the line I bet you could totally get us some chocolate covered fruit hey like what about some pineapple?”

Liam looks a little taken aback, but his composure doesn’t waver. “Oh, well of course. I’d be happy to get you guys some.” He glances over to Drake. “You interested?”

“Utterly,” Drake deadpans, pointedly not looking at Riley.

“Pineapple, right?” Liam smiles. Riley nods, and Maxwell echoes, “Pineapple.”

As Liam and Drake walk away, Maxwell lowers his voice. “There’s no pineapple; I forgot to order it.”

“Thank you,” Riley whispers back. “Where can we hide?”

“Follow me,” Maxwell says, ducking out of the room and behind the stairs. Riley hurries after him, careful not to be seen by Liam or Drake or—worse—any of the other girls. The last thing she needs is Olivia telling someone where she can be found.

They head off through the halls until finally Maxwell opens a door and ushers her in, pointing towards an armchair in the corner. “If you want to sit down, there’s—“

Riley beelines for the bed and flings herself onto it, facedown in the blankets.

“Oh,” she hears Maxwell say. “It’s _that_ kind of situation.”

Riley turns her head wearily. She can see him leaning against the doorway, watching her with equal parts curiosity and confusion. She almost doesn’t want to tell him then: what an absolute mess she’s made of his opportunity to prove his family name, what an absolute mess she’s made of her opportunity to love someone.

“I think Liam wants to marry me,” she says, rolling onto her back and staring up at the ornate carved ceilings of the room.

“And that’s… a bad thing?”

“Well, no. I don’t know.” She groans, covering her eyes with an arm. “Because… um, there was this thing with Drake.”

“You didn’t—”

Riley sits up. “I didn’t _sleep_ with Drake!”

Maxwell holds up his hands in defense. “Okay, well I was gonna say ‘kiss,’ but clearly that escalated.” He clicks the lock on the door behind him and crosses the room to sit next to her, their legs hanging off the edge of the bed. She crumples against his shoulder.

“Anyway, so I’ve ruined everything I guess,” Riley says into his shirt. “Because Liam is too noble to marry the girl his best friend wants, and Drake is too stubborn to let go of any of this, so of _course_ Liam will find out, and then you’ll just be poor and I’ll just be a waitress and both of them will be heartbroken.”

Maxwell bites his lip. “Okay, well. We can fix this. You’re not in love with Drake, are you?”

Riley shakes her head slowly.

“You… you _are_ in love with Liam, right?”

She sighs.

Maxwell turns abruptly, and she’s forced to pull back and look him in the eyes. She bites her lip as he surveys her warily. “Riley?”

“Look, I don’t—“ She covers her face with her hands and lets out an angry sound. “I don’t know! This is a lot for me, okay? Liam, he’s… well, you know how he is. He’s perfect. He cares about everyone. And then Drake is an absolute idiot and I _loathe_ him, but he just… it was different last night, like this different part of him.”

Maxwell looks down at the floor. “He should know better, though.”

“Yeah, well. I might not love either of them. So I guess it doesn’t matter.”

“ _You_ matter,” Maxwell says quietly. “So.”

“Thanks, Max.”

It’s quiet for a moment, and then Riley says, “You don’t have to deal with my shit if you don’t want. They’ll probably miss you, at the party.”

“Yeah.” Maxwell doesn’t seem to make any effort towards moving. Riley glances around.

“Where are we, anyway?”

Maxwell’s knee brushes hers as he turns slightly, looking over at her. “My room.”

“Oh.” She doesn’t know why this knowledge makes her feel different. Her eyes scan the surroundings, touching now on the little pieces of Maxwell that decorate the place: photographs on the walls, décor chosen with a distinctly unique disregard for taste, an unexplainable trophy in the shape of a llama. She makes a mental note to ask him about that later.

“Sorry about Drake,” Maxwell says, drawing her gaze back to him. “It’s pretty lame of him to expect you to reciprocate that.”

“Right? Especially in a room where the door doesn’t lock, because then anyone could just—“ she waves a hand, “you know, just walk right in and see.”

Maxwell gives her a quizzical look. “Your door doesn’t lock?”

“Nope.”

“Oh.” He looks back down at his feet. “Mine does.”

“Must be nice,” she grins. “No one to barge in on you hooking up with all of Liam’s suitors right?”

“Oh totally.” She can see him smiling too. “You know me, hitting on the future King’s betrothed every chance I get!”

“Imagine the scandal!”

“Good thing I’m not Drake.” He leans back on his hands. “Wouldn’t want to be in _that_ position.”

“Right? In love with someone who can’t return the feelings, just because of their bizarre status in relation to a prince?”

“Must be horrible.”

“And tragic.”

Riley can still hear the faint sounds of the party filtering in, but not so much as before.

Or maybe she doesn’t care about them as much now.

“We should go back,” Maxwell says, almost as if he knows what she’s thinking. “I bet Liam is worried about you. And the pineapple.”

“I don’t know about _me_ , but definitely the pineapple.” She doesn’t move, but then, neither does he. “I wonder if Drake has said anything to him. About what happened.”

Maxwell shakes his head. “He’s an idiot, but he’s not that much of an idiot.”

Riley shrugs, swinging her feet back against the bedframe. “It’s whatever. I mean, I’m in this competition now.”

“Mhmm.” Maxwell glances absently toward the door. “Wouldn’t be right for someone to get involved with one of Liam’s suitors.”

“Yeah,” Riley keeps swinging her feet. “And the suitors are representing the nation. So it would be super inappropriate for one of them to get involved with one of Liam’s friends.”

“ _Super_ inappropriate,” Maxwell echoes.

“Regardless of the friend.”

“Regardless.”

She leans back now too, level with him. “Even if it was, like, the only thing that suitor had thought about for months.”

His eyes come back to hers. “Oh, especially then. Because what if they started and they couldn’t stop?”

“Exactly. And what if they kissed? How would they tell Liam?”

“Well, they couldn’t. That’s why it would be the worst idea ever.”

“The _worst_ idea ever.”

“Just unfathomable.”

“It’s a good thing neither of us are in that situation.”

“The _best_ thing.”

Their hands are so close she can almost feel the warmth of his skin. Suddenly, it has become an enormous effort to breathe.

“Well, glad that’s settled,” Maxwell says, and then—honestly, she doesn’t know who moved first, but his hand is in her hair and her mouth is on his mouth and she forgets to prop herself up so they both tumble backward a little and then she’s on top of him and oh god, oh god, what is she doing.

But his lips are real and heavy against hers and she is kissing him back so deeply that when she bites down a little she can sense the tremor that goes through him like it’s part of her, too.

 _Do not fuck this up_ , she thinks to herself, hands trailing down his collarbone, fiddling with buttons as he pulls her closer. _The prince wants to marry you_ , she thinks, as she straddles him and he sits up and she pulls off the sleeves of his shirt while he kisses his way down her throat. _I wish Drake had walked in on_ this, she thinks, and she sucks in a breath as his hands find their way around her back to the pull of her dress.

Maxwell sits back and looks at her. “Your dress is stuck.”

“What? Oh, good grief.” She reaches back and tugs at the zipper. “Fuck this dress. Hold on.” She sits up on her knees and pulls the dress up over her head, letting out a tiny shriek when she feels it catch on her hair.

“Max, help,” she whines, her vision sheathed in blue fabric. She can hear him laughing, hear him saying, “Okay, give me a sec,” and then she shivers when his fingers brush her bare skin.

When they manage to shake her head free, she blinks and sees him smiling at her, his hair messy and cheeks slightly red. Because of her. She wants to die again, but this time, it’s for all the best reasons. She reaches out and pulls him to her, the heat of his mouth pressing in against hers until she feels so warm she could melt.

“I think we ripped your dress,” he murmurs against her lips, and she says back, “Thank god, I hated that dress,” and he laughs and cups her face in his hands, pulling back to look at her.

“Don’t you need it for the party?”

She presses her forehead to his. “Do you really plan on going back to the party?”

He kisses her again, and she tightens her arms around his shoulders and pulls him up against her, her legs wrapped around his back.

“This is so inappropriate,” she says, out of breath.

“Worst suitor _ever_.”

“Take your pants off.”

Maxwell raises an eyebrow. “Wow, okay.”

“Look,” Riley kisses his temple. “Do you think I’m gonna get a chance to do this again? This is all so messed up. You’re you, and I’m me, and Liam is a prince, and Bertrand is—“

“God,” Maxwell makes a face. “Do not bring up Bertrand right now, I’ll do _anything_. I’ll take off my pants.”

She grins and runs her hands down his chest, stopping at his belt buckle until he pulls her back in to kiss her again, mouth open and breath hot. 

“Riley,” he says, as she tangles her fingers in his hair again, “Look, I—“

The knock at the door is so loud she jumps, and then they stare at each other, wide-eyed.

“Maxwell, are you in there?”

“It’s Bertrand,” Maxwell bites his lip. “You said his name and summoned him.”

“How was I supposed to know he’s Bloody Mary?”

“Hello? Maxwell?” The knocking becomes more insistent. “Have you seen Lady Riley? Liam is looking for her, this could be a good opportunity to gain some favor!”

“Yeah, um, be out in a second!” Maxwell calls, looking sheepishly at Riley. “I’m changing!”

“You always wear the same shirt, what could you possibly be changing into?” Bertrand yells back. She can hear him grumbling faintly as his footsteps echo down the hallway.

“I always wear the same dress,” Riley whispers.

“Yeah, not anymore.” Maxwell casts a glance over at the blue thing, which has truly seen its last hurrah. “Come on, let’s figure out something for you to wear and get out there before he gets more suspicious.”

“Okay.” Riley crawls backwards, sliding off the bed and back to the ground. She turns back to look at Maxwell, still rumpled and disheveled looking. He’s the cutest, and she wants to jump him all over again. “It would have been super inappropriate if one of Liam’s friends took his pants off in front of one of the suitors. Imagine the headlines.”

He tilts his head and smiles at her. “ _Super_ inappropriate.”

“Yeah,” her smile falters. “Good thing none of the suitors are in love with their sponsor. That would be the worst.”

Maxwell’s face falls. “Yeah, good thing none of the sponsors are in love with a suitor.”

“The _worst_ ,” she whispers.

He stands up and takes her hand, and she looks at him and hopes he knows exactly how sorry she is and exactly how sorry she’s not.

“Let’s go find some pineapple, okay?” he says.

“Okay,” she answers.


End file.
